On Weight Gain

So what I didn't say in the last post about the horrid driving test was that this was with being back on medication.  (Imagine if I hadn't!  How crazy would that test have been?)

After a lot of thinking and assessing and checking in with other people, I decided that whilst I was coping reasonably ok, I wasn't coping as well with every day things as I could and it was impacting on the people I loved.  So I went back onto a low dose of sertraline.

At the same time I went back on the contraceptive pill.

Not primarily for contraceptive purposes though.  Despite having my period return when Abby was just 9 months old, it wasn't until recently that it started getting crazy again.  It went from tolerable to so heavy I had fainting spells.  After three months (I had to make sure it wasn't just a bad month) of horrible, irregular periods I decided to go back on the pill - I've used it previously to help regulate them and it works a treat for me.

The only sucky side effect of both of these things is that I very promptly blew up like a balloon.

While I'm quite comfortable in my own skin and genuinely don't feel that I look awful, I am not comfortable with the prospect of having to buy new clothes.  I quite like the clothes I already have and I just want to be able to fit into them a bit better.  And I'm a cheap bastard, so it seems ridiculous to have to spend money on clothes just because I've put on a little weight.

This probably wasn't helped by our holiday to Rarotonga.  Despite swimming every day, and sweating buckets in the crazy heat I'm pretty sure I gained at least half of this weight over there.  Holiday mode + being the home of my favorite dessert (poke) - which no-one else in my family likes - meant much poke was consumed (among other things...).

I have actually only gained about 3kg over the last two months, but it's just enough to tip the balance between me feeling ok about my size and not.  Before the weight gain I was already not feeling that great about myself, but because of breastfeeding and not sleeping I felt like my weight was not really a priority, and something to look at when other areas of my life were more stable. 

But now I am almost the heaviest I've ever been (besides during and immediately post pregnancy) and it feels uncomfortable.  I am not used to the way my thighs move against each other, and how I can't wear the tops I used to without thinking about my back fat.  3kg is not much, but when you are a shortie like me, it's proportionately more than for a regular person.

So now I'm sitting about 5kg above what is considered the top of 'healthy BMI' range for my height.  Now whilst I think BMI is a pretty shitty measure of 'health' there is a weight bracket I feel comfortable in - and that is around the 57 - 60kg mark.  I have dropped my weight right down under 50kg before.  And whilst many short celebrities happily rock those teeny numbers (Vanessa Hudgens who is my height is 50kg, Salma Hayek is 54kg), from experience I know that being little just ain't my bag.  My immunity goes AWOL which to me indicates it's not a healthy weight for me*.

But neither is 65kg.  So it's time to do something about it.

So this week I'm going on a cleanse for three days.  Then returning to much cleaner eating.

Pregnancy hormones had one positive for me: they made it easier for my body to digest stuff.  And whilst Abby is still having night feeds, most of those magic hormone things have gone, and it's time to acknowledge that my body doesn't want to process a lot of those things any more.  So it's goodbye to red meat** and back to a low gluten and low lactose diet for me.

I am not going to calorie count (like I have previously) and I'm not going to stop enjoying our weekly takeaway night (not cooking!), or my once a week food court work lunch.  And I'm not going to stop my Thursday late night tradition of lollies at work (to share - because late nights are hard).  But I am going to be more selective about what and how much I eat.

So this morning I started with this:

acidophilus yoghurt, kiwifruit and almonds.  It was delicious!

But now I'm hungry... And it's only been 3 hours... And I also had a banana... And it's still 2 hours until lunch time!  So wish me luck.  It's an especially hard day because Abby was up from 10.30pm until just after 1am then had to sleep in bed with me so I'm totally knackered.  Mumming + diet = extra hard cos no coffee... So wish me even more luck!

*And when my boobs bottom out below a C cup I feel like something is seriously wrong with me (cos I have almost always been at least a D cup.  So I'm used to my cups runningeth over)

** Not like I was eating much, but the stuff I was eating was definitely not good for me and not worth eating big, labour intensive to farm animals over.

On Sitting My Restricted License And Failing

So we got a little extra money, so I ovaried up and booked my restricted license test.

I even managed to go and sit it.  And guess what? 

It went even worse than I imagined.

Truly.  I imagined it not going well, but maybe being ok (and maybe even magically managing to pass it).  But that didn't happen.

I didn't even go to the right place for the test!  I thought it was at the AA, but it was actually at the testing station up the road.  And even though I'd read everything several times over, and had checked the directions and everything I still got that wrong (shows how strongly anxiety can work to sabotage things huh).  So before I even arrived I was anxious because I got there 10 minutes later than I was anticipating being there and wasn't sure I'd have my paperwork done in time.

And then the L Plates I'd bought from a $2 shop (cos I'm bad and don't use them usually) started to peel off in the sun!  And then I didn't know where the demister was (and was totally not expecting her to ask me where it was) because we always have it set on 'demist' and I just turn it on.  And then, because of how the parking works at the testing station, I had to start my test with a reverse hill start in a manual.  And I stalled the car.  And then I actually almost had a car accident during the test (this is not something that usually happens when I drive the car).  But the test was over even before that because I had already failed on points.  It was horrible, horrible, horrible.

And I don't want to say 'I told you so' but I did.

How did I know this would happen?

Because I:
a) haven't had any lessons or practice tests (have been too anxious to even turn up to those I've booked so have thrown that money down the drain)
b) hate driving
c) have had such anxiety around the idea of doing this test that I'd delayed doing it for over 15 years.
d) have watched enough horror movies to know that when people are in an extreme state of fear they will do stupid things: ie: run into oncoming traffic to escape a movie monster (which is pretty much exactly what I did during the test)

But I had to do it.  I know this is totally the backward way to do something but I had to go to the test to know that I could go to the test before I could make myself invest further in going to do the test.

I know that sounds crazy.  It's because it's totally crazy.  Anxiety isn't a rational thing.

But it is a real thing.  Which is why it's frustrating when you have people constantly saying 'You'll be fine.  You'll ace it.  It's no big deal'  Because whilst you know these people are meaning well and trying to be kind and good and all it's just not realistic.

And maybe it's harder (in a teeny way*) for those of us who don't seem as anxious as others.
I am one of many other humans who (for the most part) is a regularly functioning person with mental health issues.  My illness is pretty much completely invisible.  So when you tell someone you have it, their inclination seems to be to either not take you seriously, or disbelieve you entirely.  And while I'm out and proud and honest online about my crazy, in my daily life I seldom mention it.  Because it seems incongruous to my personality for most people, so it's difficult for them to understand.  And because it's not a necessary fact to know about me it's just easier not to have this conversation. 

On this occasion I did try.  At the outset of the test I told my instructor I was very anxious.  She told me this was normal.  I was like, no seriously, I've been delaying this for 15 years - I'm very anxious.  Then, because I seemed fairly calm initially, she was quite shocked when I had a total and absolute sobbing breakdown panic attack in the car following the test.  She even said 'You seemed so calm' in spite of me having told her about my chronic anxiety specifically about the test.

She then decided that my anxiety must have been about my failure and was lovely and tried to tell me all the things I did well, and that she'd love for me to resit with her again because I just needed some coaching on some small things, and it would be ok.  And she thought I just didn't even know what the test entailed - cos if I had have I would have surely done better (I did know, I just couldn't do all the things cos I was just trying to follow her instructions without crying or vomiting so my attention to detail/mirror checking was definitely shit).  But because she was trying to be helpful she didn't get out of the car for ages which - because I was anxious about the situation of the test - was all I needed her to do to be able to calm myself down.  So every word she said made my panic attack worse

And then she finally did get out of the car, and Mum came to drive us back (I was in no fit state to drive) and then she came back.  She wanted to give me the name of an instructor.  And it was horrible, because I know she was just trying to be helpful, like, beyond the call of duty helpful, but I couldn't even deal with her because I just needed for that test, and everything about it, to be over.

So yep.  I failed. 

But I sat the test.

I actually did something that terrified me more than most things in this world.

Prior to booking the test, I decided that I would give myself a big reward for just going.  Because it might not seem like much to anyone else, but to me it's like climbing Everest.  So because we had a little extra money I'm doing something I've always wanted to do, and will be booking a shark snorkel at Kelly Tarltons*.

And immediately following my test due to roster changes, and under-staffing, I had a 9 1/2 hour shift at work.**  Sounds awful, right?  Well, it was tiring, but it was perfect.  Because it ensured my panic attack curtailed itself quick smart and I couldn't dwell on that stressful time in the morning.  And because it was actually a pretty good day at work, I couldn't even say I'd had a shit day - because it just wasn't true.  I had had a hard day, but a very productive day.

Driving = absolutely terrifying.  Shark diving = so excited!

I was going to book my shark dive for the day following my test, but thankfully decided to wait a bit.  Because the day after I was absolutely exhausted.  Massive panic attack plus long shift at work made for chronic 'meh'ness.  That absolutely drained feeling.  Like, I had no emotions left.  Like how you feel after three days crying on the couch after absolute heartbreak.  Or in the first week with a new baby.  Totally empty.

And I have to do it all over again.

I don't resent this.  Sure - I don't want to be doing it again, but I also don't want people who aren't great (or observant) drivers on our roads.  So if I didn't make the grade that's ok.  I just have to try again.  And the best thing about this is that it's a lesson for my kids - who know I hate driving - that we aren't always perfect.  And that if we fail we just have to keep trying.

And next time it'll be different.  Hopefully.  Hopefully with a different result.  If not I'll be ok.  I know numerous people who've failed at least once - and even know of one person who had to sit seven times to pass.  It's not an easy test.  And now I've done the awful thing I know I can turn up to a driving lesson to practice for the next test.  I know I can do better.****  And because it is no longer the 'unknown', I know that next time I'll be less anxious.


* Because being non- functionally anxious is fucking hard.  I mean, I am able to get a license, have a job and (most of the times) leave my own home so I've got things pretty easy in the big picture scheme of things.

** Just a cage dive.  We aren't totally rich, but it will still be totally friggin awesome!

*** Not only that, but because I was the only staff available for cover I got a text from my colleague saying she really had to pee so to come to the clearance store to cover her first.  Which meant I got to work pretty quick smart.

**** And I will resit with the same instructor if possible.  Even though she didn't understand my panic attack she was really lovely and truly did care and genuinely wanted me to pass.  And I do appreciate that.  (and it'll be another not new element having the same instructor which will help me feel less anxious)

What I did today

It's hard to feel any sense of achievement when your house is in a constant state of this ^

I was feeling really down about the state of our house.  I usually write a 'to do' list daily, then take things off the list as they get done.  But lately I've felt like I haven't been able to get much on my list done.  And those remaining very important (but not absolutely necessary) jobs sit there taunting me and making me feel stink. So today (well, yesterday now that I have time to write this) I decided to do something different.  I wrote a list of the things I did do instead.

So here's my list.  It's from the time I got up until midnight (figured that was fairest) I'm sure I've left stuff off.  And I'm sure maybe there are things on there that others don't consider 'work' - but hey - I tried to include everything (including the things I do for myself - cos equally important for sanity):

•          Washed one load of dishes
•          Breakfasted the kids
•          Engaged in some sort of intelligent conversation online
•          Washed a load of nappies
•          Washed a load of delicates
•          Had a shower (then Etta and Abby had a bath)
•          Read 10+ kids books to kids
•          Brought in washing
•          Made up nappies
•          Dressed 2 x kids
•          Took kids to dental nurse
•          dropped clothes to clothing bin
•          Hung out two loads of washing
•          Washed more dishes
•          Fed kids lunch
•          Made marinade for chicken
•          Got two kids to nap
•          Read (grown up books.  To myself)
•          Napped for almost one hour myself
•          Played with kids in paddling pool
•          Dressed two kids
•          Made cupcakes with kids
•          Put all the dishes away
•          Changed all the nappies
•          Tidied and Vacuumed Etta's room
•          Put a painting up in Abby's room
•          Tidied and vacuumed Abby's room
•          Played cars in the hallway with Abby
•          Read articles on immigration/Trump blah blah online
•          Picked up takeaways for kids dinner
•          Took photos of birds
•          Helped kids with their dinner and sang happy birthday with cupcakes
•          Re-vacuumed Etta's room after cupcake disaster
•          Cleaned up cat vomit
•          Looked at export options for payments on Google Adwords for MIL
•          Made dinner for the grown ups
•          Brought in one load of washing
•          Put Abby to bed
•          Dressed Etta for bed
•          Did part of Etta's bedtime routine with her before leaving for pub quiz
•          Edited photos of birds
•          Went to pub quiz (the fun activity of the day)
•          Attempted to resettle one itchy 21 month old

I think this is a much better way of accounting for my time than just taking things off a list.  Look!  Lots of things!  I did lots of things!  The other way I do things just makes everything I did invisible and presents me with all I have yet to do.  Which in turn makes me feel useless and pretty stink.  Lame!

So maybe if you're feeling a bit crap about the state of your house/washing/dishes/human relationships give this a go.  Make sure you write it all down.  I reckon you'll find you do a lot more than you think!  And maybe a lot more things with/for your kids than you think.  And at the end of the day, that's a pretty important thing.

This is actually what comes of me ignoring the kids to do chores* - Etta reading to Abby.

 

 

* Only sometimes... On the odd occasions where they aren't yelling/hitting/pushing/zombies to kids TV (AKA technological babysitter)

On Why Leaving The House With Two Kids Is Hard

Us on an easy outing yesterday - a walk to the local park

I am home alone again today (yay!) so thought I'd write something.  But my brain is foggy and I have painting to do so today's post is going to be about my current bug bear regarding kids: taking two of them out alone.

While for some people this appears to be a piece of cake - for me this is just not the case.

Here are some of the reasons why:

1) I am still not a legally licensed driver 
Why?  I have chronic anxiety about sitting my drivers license.  Like, I can't even make the phone call to book the test.  As in, I had to resit my learners license because it expired and I didn't have my original license because it was in my wallet which was stolen (many years ago now) so I had to actually resit it.  Whilst I no longer completely hate driving the idea of driving, the idea of driving with a total stranger judging my every move is absolutely terrifying.  And the fact that the fail rates for the restricted license is much higher now than if I had have sat it when I should have (about 15+ years ago) just makes it worse.  And sitting this license multiple times is very expensive and because we are not rich people this is just not going to be possible (or fun).  So whilst I do (illegally) drive the kids short distances (basically just to kindy or the mall AKA less than 2km from our house) sometimes, I try to avoid it cos, you know, it's totally illegal and being pulled over by the cops would not aid me in my anxiety.*

2) So we have to take public transport
And we not only live in a place which is totally accessible to public transport (excellent planning when buying our house if I do say so myself) but the kids love catching buses and trains.  But this is prohibitive in that if we want to go anywhere we need to:
a) plan it around bus/train timetables
b) only go to locations which are bus or train accessible
c) only go to locations which are travel time friendly
c) go on a day where the kids are not freaking out.  So not on a day where Etta is regularly 'too cold to walk' or suddenly stricken by 'too tired to move' or 'hasn't had enough Mummy Time', which is probably about 75% of the time.

3) Getting our shit together
Going out before I had kids - piece of cake.  Going out now that I have kids - not sure that it's worth the effort.  Once I've put together water, spare nappies, shoes, socks, sunblock, hats, snacks and snugglies and packed them into something I can easily carry and then changed the poo that Abby's inevitably done whilst trying to get ready to go out, and wrangled the wriggly toddler into the pram, we have often missed our 'catching the bus' window.  We then have to find something else to do for twenty minutes that can be put down easily (ie: without a tantrum) before we start the process over again.

4) Because Etta and Abby collectively weigh about 32 kg 
So if they won't walk, I have to carry them.  And unlike large sacks of potatoes, or heavy boxes of goods, they also have limbs that flail about.  Etta has given me both a black eye and a fat lip.  And I have dropped her once.  So carrying both kids tantruming to the car/bus/train is not a safe option for anyone.  And it's fucking hard work!  Totally kills your arms.  And back.  And shoulders.  I am not designed for this shit.

5) So use a pram... 
We do!  Most of the time this works ok.  But Abby can tantrum so hard that I have physically not been able to put her back into the pram before (we had to downsize our Mountain Buggy as Abby was too big for it.  Seriously).  And whilst I have had to carry Etta log styles mid tantrum (she lost a shoe) whilst pushing a totally fine Abby in the pram, this was physically difficult and dangerous and not something I aspire to do again any time soon.**

5) Etta gets anxious about new things 
Whilst Etta's anxiety is likely triggered by my anxiety, there is plenty of evidence which suggests that she is just an anxious kid.  Given how anxious I was during my pregnancy with her it is no surprise that she also has anxiety***.  As a consequence of this, going to new places is hard for her.  Because I am a comfortable space for her, if I am with her she will comfortably express her anxiety outwardly in a variety of ways (and if I am not there she will shut down until she feels more comfortable in her surroundings). 

Because what she wants is for me to focus solely on her to help her manage her scared feelings.  Unfortunately, this is just not possible with one parent and two kids.  Especially if it's a 'play date' style situation and I am also expected to interact with other adults (or children).  So in these circumstances, her behavior is exacerbated because her needs are not being met.

It is unreasonable both for me to be able to meet a need so great (from Etta) whilst actively participating and meeting the needs of others (Abby and everyone else).  It is also unreasonable to expect Etta to manage her upset feelings herself (she's only three and a half).  So these experiences, whilst opening pathways for future activities, are fucking hard work and I am not always mentally up to the challenge.

6) Other people's reactions to Etta's behavior
I'd like to think I don't care about what other people think.  And most of the time I don't.  It's not that I want to be perceived as the perfect parent - I don't.  I try my best to be a good enough parent and I think, most of the time, I am (although it's a struggle). 

It's that kids notice stuff too.  Tantrumming kids are generally regarded by the public to be 'naughty kids' or to have 'negligent parents'.  I cannot tell you how many 'control your kid' stares I've had from strangers when out in public.  I also cannot tell you how many times Etta has noticed those stares.  Or how many times she's been negatively interacted with by strangers.  I don't want her to believe that she is a naughty kid.  I don't think that she is.  I do believe that she has high needs that are often difficult to manage - especially in public spaces.

I fully understand that these are perfectly natural reactions and that these people aren't just total ass hats.  It's just that these aren't especially helpful reactions.  So if we go out and it happens sometimes then it's ok - because if someone says something mean to you once in a while it's easy to shake off.  But if people are regularly telling you the same thing it's hard not to believe that it's true.  I love Etta and I don't want her to believe she is a naughty kid.  So that means that sometimes we'll stay home to avoid her hearing that same old rhetoric.

7) Friends responses to Etta's behavior
Like the strangers above ^, they absolutely mean no harm and are trying to do good.  But hearing 'Sarah went through a phase of (behavior vaguely related to your kids behavior) and we did this (thing requiring time and stamina****) consistently and it got better' in same same but different guises for multiple problems, over and over again, doesn't feel helpful.

I know this is the intent.  I know my friends are just trying to be helpful and make my life more manageable and I am grateful for that.  But at that point in time, what I really want to hear is more along the lines of:
'That does fucking suck.  Being a parent fucking sucks.  Here's a glass of wine.*****'

Because at that point in time you feel pretty shitty as is.
So what your friends advice sounds like is:
'I'm a far more competent parent than you are.'
And that just makes you feel more shitty.

8) Because sometimes my creative energy is maxed out
Some days I just do not have the energy to have to come up with a good enough argument and counter argument as to why it's not a good day to get ice-cream.  Or why the homeless guy on Great North Road smells so bad (and why we shouldn't talk about it where he can hear us).  Or to explain to other people why Etta, when encountering normal human small talk turns to me and says 'Why is that person talking to me?'

Because honestly, there really is no good reason not to eat icecream unless you're lactose intolerant or vegan.  The homeless guy smells because he has no easy access to showers - we shouldn't talk about it in front of him in case he's mentally unstable due to the extreme pressures of his life and wigs out and tries to murder us.  And there is actually no good reason for small talk other than to make noise.

9) Fear that my kids will actually die or be kidnapped
Because this one time I came to pick Etta up from Kindy in the car because we were running late, and because she was expecting that we would walk she flipped out whilst we were playing in the park next to Kindy.  So she threatened to run out on to the road - and then actually ran out onto the road.  And because I didn't have Abby's pram (because I had the car) I had to give her to a stranger at the park crying, then wrestle Etta kicking and screaming into her car seat and then retrieve Abby who was thankfully not kidnapped by the stranger.

So those are the main reasons we don't always go out when it's just me and the kids.


* Yes, I want to sit my license.  No, I have no idea about how to plan to do this.  Ideas are welcome.  Like, helpful ideas.  Not 'just get over it' style ideas.  And not expensive ideas (we have zero spare money) I don't like breaking the law.

** On this occasion we literally JUST made it to the bus before it pulled out.  I was so glad.  And a stranger man picked up Etta's shoe and just gave it to me with no evil looks or stupid sayings which I was so grateful for.

*** Having had an in-home assessment done so that we have some understanding of where to go for help with managing Etta's stuff, we are in the process of finding the right facilitators (and the money) to help us understand what she needs, and how we can help her.  Why do this when she's only 3 1/2?  So we have time to have some understanding around this to make the best decisions around which school will work best for her specific needs.   We are waiting to get her assessed for giftedness/ASD and to start therapy for her sensory issues.


**** Time is never something I have much of.  With two similar aged kids, both of whom want my constant attention, there is little space for any one on one time with either of them unless there is another adult present, and even then it's hard. 

***** This is in my glamorous imaginary life where I have no qualms about daydrinking whilst caring for kids.  I do have qualms.  I'm an anxious person.

On Going Off My Meds and Panic Attacks and Christmas

Ah Christmas, simultaneously the best and worst time of the year.

So I haven't blogged much about anything much in ages cos busy, braindead, parent etc etc.  So you probably won't know this, but around September or October last year I went off my anxiety medication.

Now this post is not going to be an uplifting rant about how much more colourful the world is now I'm unmedicated.  This post isn't going to be about how I'd been medicated long enough and it was time and blah blah blah.  Neither of those things are true.  The truth is I ran out of my anti-anxiety medication and was so busy I just didn't get any more.  This is not a smart thing for people with mental health issues to do.

Why?  Because there are varying side effects from going off most of these types of medications.  Which is why the proper process for this is talking about it with your GP, and if they agree it's time, taking your dose down slowly until the dose is non-existent.  And while side effects may be something small like dry mouth or an upset stomach, they can also result in massive depressive episodes or actual psychotic breaks.

Having been on and off these kinds of medication over many years I am totally aware of these facts.  Which is why what I did was very stupid and not smart or brave or good.

The only reason I went off my meds was because I ran out.  The week that I ran out I was extremely busy, and I couldn't see any time in which I could easily go to my doctors without the kids.  Why without the kids?  Because I have chronic anxiety about seeing doctors about my anxiety and I have never managed to do this without collapsing into a blubbery, awful mess which I don't want my kids to have to witness if at all avoidable.

So I just ran out of meds.

And then what happened was pretty meh.  I was more irritable.  I was very dizzy.  These were the two side effects I definitely had.  But other than that I actually felt ok.  So then, after a week I thought maybe this will be ok.  And (like many other people in my position) I didn't tell anyone I had gone off my meds until I felt like it was going to be ok. 

Which is also a really shitty thing to do.  Because it's not like those side effects didn't impact on other people.  I can't remember if I told Murray before or after one fainting spell, but I know I didn't tell him for a while after I ran out because I felt stupid and guilty about it.  Because it's not I couldn't have got help with the kids to see the doctor.  I could have.  But I felt as though I would have had to explain to that helping person why I had to go to the doctor so urgently.  And that just seemed impossible.

And got harder the longer I was off my meds for.  And because besides those minor side effects I actually did feel ok, I really didn't feel like I was doing anything wrong in not going to the doctors.  Because I actually did feel ok.

Then one day it felt like something just snapped.  Something happened at work - I can't even remember specifically what it was, but it was just an everyday stressful situation.  The kind I could usually deal with fine and move on with my day.  But instead it was like my body missed a gear, and I went into full on fight or flight mode: heart racing, stomach tightening, sweating like crazy.  As a long time fairly functional anxious person I covered (I think) fairly well.  I didn't even take a break, I just kept doing my job and continued with my day.

But after that, it was like something had actually broken in me chemically.  Because after that day small things that whilst medicated I could manage fine - put me into a full on panic.  It truly felt like I had a faulty gearbox that slipped into fourth into first and your rev counter is almost off the clock.

This was the first time since I came off my meds that I actually thought being unmedicated was not the best idea.  What was difficult about this was that by this stage it was late November.  Coming into Christmas meant more hours at work, more social gatherings and more stuff with the kids.  So Mum was down extra to help with these things, I was working more and everyone was generally busy.  And because my anxiety was so chronic, it meant asking for help to get to a GP seemed impossible.

The other issue I had was that there were genuine reasons for me to be stressed.  December is the busiest month in retail - we do about 1/3 of the business for the year in that month.  So work was stressful.  We had someone leave a month out from Christmas and we were short staffed.  So work was tough on everyone.  At home we were also very busy.  Etta had two Kindy trips in one week at the beginning of December both which I was a parent help at.  We also had important birthdays, a specialist appointment and, a family funeral to attend over the holiday period.  And that's on top of the usual Christmas parties (x 4 over three days) and baking and cleaning to do - all of which are things that even a medicated Hannah would have struggled to cope with.

And there were Christmas projects to complete.  I happen to love Christmas - in spite of the stress and craziness of it all.  So every year I have a list of foods and craft gifts to make.  And most years I overdo things.  This year (well, last year), because I knew I was so busy and not coping that well, I actually pulled back.  And whilst this did still create a little stress, I felt as though I actually coped better than I have most years with setting more realistic goals, projects and time frames around my other commitments.  The fact that I managed this unmedicated was a sign that maybe, I was actually coping ok.



 


Me at the most chill part of Christmas - after the parties are over.

So what this means is that I'm still unmedicated.  And I'm still unsure as to whether this is a good thing or not.  I am still regularly having mini panics over small things and hate parties.  And I am still tetchy and probably not nice to deal with for those closest to me when I'm anxious about something.  But I'm managing.  I want a little time and distance from Christmas to get some perspective as to how bad/irrational my current levels of anxiety are.  I have managed for many years without medication, using other tools like therapy, mindfulness and adrenal supplements to help me manage my day to day existence.

But it isn't always enough.  It is difficult working out the balance and requires checking in with other people.  Because often well to unwell is a slope that you don't even realise you're heading downward on but can be quite apparent to those closest to you.  It requires trusting implicitly a small circle of people.  And that is extremely hard for an anxious person to do.

This post is not a cry for help.  I am doing ok.  Anxious, but ok. I mostly wrote it because I don't want people to feel proud of me for going off my medication.

Going off medication without assistance from a health professional is not something to be proud of - it was an awfully irresponsible thing for me to do.  It has not only negatively impacted on me, but on those closest to me.  And I am sorry for that.  I also don't want people to think that being unmedicated is my goal - or that it should be the goal of any mentally unstable person.  It isn't and it shouldn't be.  Honestly.  Some of us are chemically broken in ways that are difficult to fix in non-medical ways.

In spite of this, many of us will do exactly what I've done as outlined above.  I hope that talking about things like this can help others like me feel less alone, guilty and fearful.  Many of us have made this mistake, and many of us will make it in the future.  And it doesn't make us bad people, just human.  What's important is getting back on the path to wellness, in whatever form that path may take.

* I know this is minimising my mental health stuff and bad etc.  But this is how I still frame it in my head.  I do find it hard not to think about my own mental health this way.  In part, because it feels like there are so many other immediate priorities at hand, but also in part because for my entire life many people have not taken this seriously - so it can still be difficult for me to perceive it as important even though I know that it is.  Trust me, I do.

On My Suburban Birds Project

So there's a reason why I haven't blogged in ages, and it's not just because I'm working and have small kids and try to sleep as much as I possibly can during the small windows available to me (although those are rather large factors).  At the moment I'm working on a year long project where I take photographs of local birds every day.

 And by every day I mean every single day.  It means literally every day.  Today was day 71, and whilst today wasn't an amazing day photographically I still did it.

So why am I doing this you ask?

Well, the idea came out of me doing one of my thirty days of gratitude shticks on Facebook.  It's where every day, for thirty days, I came up with three things I'm grateful for.  Because I'd been a bit down about life generally, and gratitude is a proven method of curing depression.  Whilst doing this, I discovered I was often looking toward nature around our house and feeling grateful for it.  I also started taking photographs a little more of what I saw so I could illustrate these small but powerful things brightening my life.

At a deeper level, Suburban Birds is a reflection of my own suburban life.  I never expected to be a suburban housewife.  Never in a million years.  Having grown up in the country, I kind of anticipated returning to it as a grown up.  Which is weird, considering I have no skills with which to provide a means to support myself in the country.  Anyhow.  I also never expected to be a wife to anyone, let alone a mother.  So whilst I love where I am and what I do, when I step back and look at it sometimes it seems a bit strange.

But that's only when I look at it from the perspective of an outsider looking in - a stranger.  Someone making assumptions based on pre-designated ideas about what it means to be a suburban housewife.  I imagine those people might see us as swarms of Mountain Buggied yoga pants wearing decaf drinking ladies trying to work off those bonus baby bumps.  Or maybe as an attache to our partners living their successful lives outside the home.  Or maybe they don't even see us at all.

And it was the invisibility aspect of things which I really associate with birds.  People almost never
even think about birds in the suburbs.  Especially not the grey/brown birds like the sparrows and pigeons.  But they are always there.  If you just sit still and listen at almost any point in time during the day you will hear them.  And if you look, you'll see them too.  And whilst at first glance, all may seem alike given time you come to notice their differences.  Not just in species, but in age, colour, body tone, flight pattern, song.  In time they all become individuals just trying to live their lives alongside us.  And they are beautiful and funny and unique and amazing.

All of them.  Not just the native birds NZ is famous for but the imports too.  The sparrows, the thrushes, the blackbirds the mynas.  Even the pigeons.  All of them.  They are all part of the landscape and soundscape that form the backdrop of our lives.

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When I started this project I expected it to be another thirty day Facebook project.  Then after a few weeks I realised I needed maybe 100 days.  But then realised I needed more.  Because every single day doing this one simple thing was helping me feel connected with the world I live in.  And there is just so much to see.

Today was not an amazing day.  On a Thursday I usually take photographs near a few bridges over Opanuku Stream, but it was too rainy for this to be feasible to do in work gear.  So I just took some pictures of Southern black backed gulls on the council buildings whilst I waited for my bus home from work.  But what you can't see here is how on my afternoon break I tried to take photos.  I went into the bush and found a pukeko too fast for my camera.  I tried to spot wildlife over the stream standing on the wobbly metal overbridge and heard birds hiding out from the rain, but spotted nothing.  I went outside into the world and looked around.

And this looking has resulted in all kinds of things.  I've had a conversation with a woman who discovered a magical spot at the same time as me.  She took off her shoes and walked down to some rocks under a bridge to look at the wildlife and to ask me what she was doing.  She was from New Lynn and had lived there for fifteen years.  She had only been to Henderson a handful of times.  It is not easy to describe, but it was a special meeting.  And it occurred less than 20 metres from Alderman Drive Pak N Save.

One day whilst perusing local bush by the mall I spotted what I thought was a homeless persons possession stash.  On closer inspection, at a later point in time I discovered it was actually discarded stolen objects.  Empty bags and purses, a glasses case, a low value jersey.

On Sunday I interrupted someone sleeping in the bush.  It was an awkward moment.  We were very close to throngs of people, yet a world away.  Consequently we each were frightened of how the other would react.  And, much like the birds I try to capture on film, he ran away before I could apologise to him, for my presence in what is normally maybe a safe place to take a kip.

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 At this stage, I'm planning on doing this for a year and taking stock from there.  I don't know what it will result in.  Maybe an exhibition?  Maybe a zine?  Maybe a calendar?  I'm not sure.  I haven't approached anyone yet and I won't be any time soon.  I am tweeting my pictures because I think the idea of tweeting about birds is hilarious and this is the only reason I use Twitter.  And maybe somewhere out there in 'real' bird land might have some ideas or insight. 

What I do know is that this is good for me.  And it's good for my family.  Murray can't not notice birds now.  He knows all the best places to spot them between our house the the train station now.  He's even taken some photographs himself.  He is far better at bird spotting than I am (pros of 20 20 vision). And we've found an amazing spot to take the kids to 'go look at ducks'.  They love it.

This gives me piece of mind.  It gives me something outside of my suburban life and home, whilst bring something so much part of my suburban life and home.

I think birdwatching could be the next big thing in curing depression.  But even that's not the point.  The point is to see what is living around you.  Because one you see it, it's hard to unsee.

On going back to work

So I put my big girl pants on - sent my CV out, filled out a form and sat through one 3 minute interview and lo and behold - I am now a working Mum.

When I decided it was time to go back to work I also made the decision that it wouldn't be a career move for me.  Since Mumhood my brain feels a bit shattered.  As it is, I don't remember the last time I had a five hour solid stretch of sleep.  I think there's been one since Abby was born almost 18 months ago - but I can't remember when.  So taking on something really meaningful and important is not something I felt quite ready to do.

The unedited me-right-now pic.  This is the face of a person not ready for a career.
Or willing to wear pants for more than three days a week.

I also wanted to work close to home.  Having previously had a small commute to Pt Chev for my dream easy job (Video Ezy Pt Chev RIP) I felt that it was in mine, and my families best interests that I work closer.  Cos with double the children there is double the chance of needing to rush back because of spew, coughs, temps, falls or radioactive spider bites.  And given we live a mere 20 minute walk from Westcity Mall and I'm filled to the brim with retail experience, it made sense to look for something there.

I never heard back from the first few places I dropped my updated CV into after seeing ads on Trademe (your loss Hush Puppies and that other place I can't even remember).  And as there was no real hurry for me to return to work I just sat on my hands for a bit. 

Then one day I was having a Mummy-Etta date at the mall and happened to run into my Mother In Law.  She informed me that there were pasta machines on sale for $15 in Stevens and she would gladly watch Etta for a few minutes while I went to get one - if I wanted to (which I did) - because she knows I like making pasta.  After waiting in the longest queue ever for my machine of pastariffic joy, and receiving many comments from fellow shoppers in the line ('How do you just buy one thing at a sale?') I finally paid for my machine and noticed a sign on the counter offering part time work.

Whilst that time was clearly not the best to inquire further, I perused the sale again a few days later and asked about the position.  The lady who is now my manager printed me out an application form which I dropped back a few days later.  Then after going through credit and security checks I got the green light - I was a Stevens employee.

They funniest part of me ending up working for Stevens is this:

Younger Hannah was banned from Stevens.

It was a self enforced ban.  It was placed on me by me for my own good.  Some women buy clothes they don't need.  I buy kitchen things I don't need.  I'm just a sucker for kitchen porn.  And Stevens had the shiniest and glassiest and prettiest and on saliest things of them all.  Younger Hannah recognised that was not good for her or her bank account and promptly put a stop to it.*

Buying that pasta machine is the first thing I'd bought from Stevens in probably 10 years.

 The kitchen porn specialists.  A dangerous place.

So how is working life as a Mum of two kids?

The best part is that it enforces time away from the kids, which I sorely needed.  Being a SAHM can make you go stir crazy.  And for someone with an existing mental health diagnosis, being stir crazy is not really something to aim for.  Just being able to be an adult who can pee alone and have grown up conversations and not have to carry a flailing screaming toddler around for a few hours a week makes a massive difference.

The next best (and most obvious) part is that we have a bit more money.  With me returning to work in a low income position we really had to do some math and balance out exactly how much I'd have to work to make it feasible (too little and we're better off getting our WFF tax credits, too much and it interferes with how much time I want to spend with the kids).  I was very lucky to find a job with pretty much the right balance - so it means we do have a little extra each week which takes the pressure off everyone a little.

The other part, that I hadn't really expected, was finding a new community outside of my home.  I am very used to working alone.  Well, not totally alone cos customers but, you know, a numero uno sole staff person thing.  At Stevens, whilst I do work sole charge sometimes, I usually don't.  And while our team at Stevens is small (5 permanent staff), the team at Farmers isn't (our store is a store within a store**).  So I get to work with and see lots of lovely people every day.  And whilst thinking I might be the odd one out of our little team (manager is older than me but all other staff MUCH younger) that just hasn't been the case.  Despite my lack of knowledge of current culture, I seem to get along ok with everyone.  I even go out to pub quiz with a small Farmers/Stevens team once a week.  It's fantastic.

The only issue is that old chestnut of finding the balance of how much to work.  As we've had some big changes at our store since I started, there have been a lot more hours come up that I could work if I want.  Which means more money which is always helpful.  But also means more time away from the kids.  I think we've found the working balance of the maximum I can work without tipping things over at home***.  But I know how hard it can be to enforce this.

Especially because time away from the kids is a little like crack.  After a few days of it I can see why some people might actually prefer to work than be home with the kids.  Whilst I love my kids to bits they can drive me a little nuts.  Going to work feels a bit like having a holiday from being at home.  Honestly, when I'm sick I'd prefer to be at work because I get more rest there than at home.

Just remember: this is called parenting, not babysitting.
Actually, this is called eating noodles.

 
Do I worry about the kids when I'm at work?  Not really, because we have a crack team of co-parent and Grandparents on the case.  And me working gives them time to build better one on one relationships with each other.  Which I think is important.  I was lucky to grow up living with one set of my Grandparents at varying points in time.  The skills and knowledge I learned from these times was priceless.  This is a gift I'd love for my kids to have too.

The only real con of working is that I neglect writing posts.  Truly, there are so many half finished posts jammed up in editing that I just haven't had the brain to finish.  I want them to be out there.  I have important things to say dagnabbit!  And one day I might actually start getting some sleep and then BAM - posts galore.  And then who knows what else I'll achieve with this brain of mine?****

* Even Younger Hannah banned me from buying cookbooks.  In my early 20's I had a sort out once and realised I had over 40 of them.  Since then I have never bought myself a cookbook.  Seriously, it's been about 15 years.  I was going to make an exception for my previous boss and friend Sarah King's book because - well - that was a bit different.  But I was lucky enough to be gifted one by Sarah so I actually didn't break that ban even then.

** Stevens and Farmers are both owned by JPL Group Ltd.  The decision for Stevens to move inside Farmers (which happened about four years ago) at Westcity was because of money/rent pay-the-bills based decisions - it ended up being an arrangement beneficial to both parties (but mostly Stevens) and hey, all owned by the same peoples anyway.  For me, it means I have the benefit of working within a small team under the infrastructure of a large company which is kind of the best of both worlds (I don't ever have to fix computers!  Yay!)

*** If I'm away too much the kids start acting out, and no amount of money is enough to compensate me for a tantrumming Etta.  So if I can avoid pushing them to this point as much as I can then I will.  It makes us all happier in the long run.

**** What my brain will probably actually realise is that if I want to live in pyjamas I have to continue to appear like someone who doesn't actually sleep.  So maybe it'll just have that realisation and that'll be it.  The rest of my brain will be dedicated to raising the kids, crafting Excel spreadsheets and splicing and creating new roses.  In my pyjamas.  Of course.